


A Little Friendly Challenge

by moonblossom



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bickering, Blow Job, Coitus Interruptus, Humour, M/M, mild exhibitionism kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/pseuds/moonblossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt knows how to get Hermann to cooperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Friendly Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written these two idiots in a while. Feels good, man.
> 
> Thanks to Interrosand for looking this over <3

Newt's perched on the edge of Hermann's desk, leaning awkwardly to one side to avoid fighting for dominance with a huge pile of papers. Judging by the look on Hermann's face, he's none too pleased about Newt being there, but then again that could just be Hermann's default grumpyface. Which Newt absolutely, positively, does not find hilarious and adorable fuck you very much.

"C'mon, dude. We've been in here for six hours. You need to eat something."

Hermann huffs, that also distinctly not adorable little grumbling noise he makes when he's irritated, but only at Newt.

"I am fine, Newton. I had a handful of crackers when I sat down. I cannot be disturbed right now; I need to get these equations balanced by the end of the day."

To Newt, that sounds distinctly like a challenge. "If I can distract you, will you eat something?"

Hermann pushes his silly little glasses up off his face and rubs his eyes. His shoulders are rounded, like he's already given up. "Alright, Newton. If you can successfully clear my mind, I will accompany you to the commissary."

"Deal. Also, you've gotta stop talking like a robot for the remainder of the afternoon."

The huff Hermann lets out could be assent, or it could be irritation. Newt feels like the two are intrinsically intertwined when it comes to them as a couple lately. He pushes off the desk and hops onto the floor in front of it. He turns to face Hermann, who is already buried in paperwork, glasses back on his face.

For a few minutes, Newt just stands there. Every so often, despite the lofty claims of being busy and distracted, Hermann just looks up expectantly at him. Newt shrugs, every single time. Eventually, Hermann gives up and goes back to focusing on his work. The only noise in the lab is the incessant, irritating scritch-scritch-scritch of that stupid old-fashioned pencil he uses.

Slowly, Newt makes his way around the desk, until he's standing directly behind Hermann. He drops slightly and kisses the back of Hermann's neck, just under his fussy little hairline.

"Really, Newton? This is your attempt to distract me?" Hermann chuckles quietly and continues poring over his notes. When Newt gets his teeth involved, dragging them gently across the soft skin where Hermann's ear meets his jawline, the sharp uptake in Hermann's breath is evident. Newt lets out a little crow of triumph, which Hermann pointedly ignores.

Hermann, as usual, is wearing about sixteen layers of clothing, so Newt gives up getting under them as an exercise in futility. At least he's not wearing his stupid parka.

Instead, Newt takes his glasses off, pointedly letting them fall to the middle of the desk, and drops to his knees at the side of Hermann's rolling chair. Hermann lets out a startled little yelp as he figures out what Newt's up to.

"Newton, no. I forbid you."

"Mmm, too bad you didn't set terms when we started this. I'm pretty sure I'd have remembered you saying _Newton, I forbid you from crawling under my desk and distracting me with your excellent fellatio skills_."

Hermann glowers. "I do not sound like that."

"No, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what you sound like."

"You're ridiculous." Hermann sighs, but makes no move to push Newt away. Newt grins and grabs the chair, wheeling it backwards and sliding under the huge wooden desk. It's huge under here, and it'd make a great fort. Next time, Newt's bringing pillows.

Newt's pretty fucking pleased with himself when he settles in and notices that Hermann's already starting to get hard, in spite of his constant stream of complaints. He runs his fingers lightly up the insides of Hermann's legs, the rough tweedy fabric of Hermann's pants chafing his fingers a bit. He gets to the crease where thigh meets body and traces the outline of Hermann's scrotum, the heavy protrusion of his cock, twitching interestedly against Newt's fingers.

Hermann's apparently given up the whole thing as a lost cause, because he's moaning softly and sliding forward in his chair, giving Newt better access to all the interesting bits. Grinning, Newt grips Hermann's hips with both hands and grabs the tab on Hermann's zipper with his teeth. He digs his thumbs in, making a point of reminding Hermann that yes, Newt is in fact undoing his fly with his mouth.

"Scheeeeiße."

The muffled sibilant from above the desk is its own reward, and Newt grins against the fabric of Hermann's pants. He gets the zip down fully but has no delusions about the metal tab at the top. Why can't Hermann just wear pants with a button at the waist like everyone else does?! Newt undoes the closure with his fingers and spreads the front of Hermann's pants, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before him.

Gently, mindful of Hermann's hip, Newt coaxes his pants down just enough to expose a pair of black boxer-briefs that are a marked improvement from Hermann's usual underwear, but Newt suspects are actually his. Is that weird, or is it hot? Newt's pretty sure it's hot. Maybe a little weird, but yeah, mostly hot. He tugs the pants down a bit further, nearly to his knees, and has a bit of a panicked laugh. What if there's a fire drill? Or a fucking Kaiju? Wouldn't that just be fantastic timing.

Newt shakes his head and presses a kiss to the exposed skin just above Hermann's knee. He runs his fingers up under the elastic around Hermann's skinny thighs, teasing the skin softly. He can't see Hermann's face, not from this angle, but he's making those funny breathy little noises he always makes when he's trying to keep quiet. Good sign.

He kisses the inside of Hermann's thigh again, right below the elastic of his shorts, and nips gently. Hermann, usually so stoic and controlled, is a mess of heightened responses already, and bucks up under Newt. Newt drags his mouth over the cotton shorts, dampening them with saliva and moist breath. He gets to Hermann's testicles, already warm and heavy, and sucks them, first the left, then the right, through the fabric.

Hermann's full-on whimpering now, making tiny thrusting motions with his hips, driving his covered cock into the empty air, seeking friction Newt's not sure he deserves yet.

"You win, Newton. Please, just suck me off." His voice is ragged and uneven, and Newt's resolve melts. Hermann doesn't usually resort to such crude language, so whenever he does it's especially potent. Sometimes he does it just to mess with Newt, which he might be doing now, but Newt doesn't care anymore.

He pops the button on the fly of the shorts and Hermann's cock springs free. It still amazes Newt to see it like this, so thick and flushed and completely fucking glorious. Sometimes it amazes Newt that Hermann has one at all. He existed for so long as an entirely non-sexual entity in Newt's head, and the novelty hasn't quite worn off yet.

Newt rubs his face against the shaft, inhaling deeply, feeling a bit like an animal. 'Cause really, isn't that what we all are in the end? He wraps one hand around it, sliding the foreskin down slightly, and presses a sloppy kiss to the head, making Hermann whine loudly again.

Not sure if it's pity or just plain old lust driving him, Newt parts his lips and slides the tip into his mouth. He runs his tongue around the crown, flicking it against the fraenulum and causing Hermann to tremble slightly under him. He's already leaking what feels like an obscene amount of pre-come, which Newt eagerly laps up. It's not so much the way it tastes -- salty, bitter, not the best thing ever honestly -- but the knowledge that _Newt_ caused it.

Wrapping one hand tightly around the base of Hermann's cock, Newt starts bobbing his head. His cheeks hollowed, he sucks vigorously, tongue lapping against the ridged underside of the shaft. It's dark and damp and close here under the desk, and it's starting to smell overpoweringly of sex and sweat, and Newt's cock is twitching angrily in his jeans. With his free hand, he pops his own fly and lets himself out, groaning in relief around Hermann's dick.

He can't help it -- he was going to focus solely on Hermann, but fuck if he isn't impossibly horny too right now. He gives himself a few good strokes, mirroring every move on Hermann's cock. There's a pleasing synchronicity to it. He tightens his lips, forming a snug seal, and works his way down to the root of Hermann's cock, only relenting when he feels the head bumping the back of his own throat.

Every time he takes Hermann in deeply like this, Hermann moans, loud and sharp. Each moan sends a shock through Newt's prick, and he squeezes himself roughly.

Suddenly, Hermann freezes up below Newt and lets out a weird, pitchy little squawk. Startled, Newt sits up and bashes his head on the underside of the desk. He bites down a curse. The noise Hermann made wasn't one of those _holy shit I'm coming_ kind of squawks, either. He's not that close yet. Newt holds still, trying to figure out what the fuck's going on.

"Hello, Mr. Choi!" Hermann's voice is sharp and theatrical, like he's talking for Newt's benefit. Which, considering the situation, he probably is. "Lovely afternoon, isn't it?"

Newt holds as still as possible in his little hidey-hold under the desk, but the way Tendo clears his throat speaks volumes.

"Where's Geiszler? I had some... stuff for him."

"Oh, he's..." Newt's about to lose it, and he buries his face in Hermann's thigh to muffle his giggles. Fuck, but this was the best idea he's had in months. He just wishes he could see Hermann's face. He's so tempted to blow a raspberry right now, and he realises he missed a large chunk of the conversation literally going over his head.

One thing that hasn't escaped his notice is that Hermann's erection hasn't flagged in the slightest. Rather the opposite, in fact. _Iiiiiinteresting_.

"Alright, then." Tendo's voice carries over the desk again. "Just, uh, tell him I was here." There's a thump, not unlike someone kicking the front of the desk, pretty much confirming that Tendo knows exactly what's going on. Newt waits for his footsteps to recede and then gives in to the fit of giggles that's been threatening to overpower him the whole time. Hermann squirms at the tickling contact and Newt has the decency to move his face slightly.

"I told you we were going to get caught, Newton!" Hermann's voice is needy and breathy and rough and something about it is like a kick to Newt's gut. Or possibly his cock. Newt groans slightly, and without waiting for Hermann to stop complaining, engulfs him again. Hermann is still rock-hard and throbbing, as if the whole experience has just made him hornier.

Unrelenting, Newt licks a broad stripe up the underside of Hermann's cock, effectively killing whatever argument was building up steam in that obnoxious head of his. He brings his hand up to meet his lips, stroking the base while sucking hard on the head, and within moments Hermann's back to the wriggling, quivering mass he was before they were so rudely interrupted.

Newt takes himself back in hand with a sigh. Making Hermann weak like this always gets to him. He shifts his weight and strokes himself, quick and harsh, twisting his grip slightly at the base every time. He groans again, vibrating around the head of Hermann's erection, deep in his throat. Every so often, he pulls off entirely and traces the thick, throbbing veins with the tip of his tongue and trails wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down the length of Hermann's shaft until he's whining and breathing heavily through his nose. Newt alternates like this for a while, maddeningly light contact and sloppy, aggressive deep-throating, until he's sure there isn't a coherent thought left in Hermann's head.

Newt feels a sharp tug, as Hermann runs his bony fingers through his hair. Getting close then. The sting feels good right about now, sending out a wave of goose bumps that starts at Newt's nape and runs down his spine. His hand, the one around Hermann's prick, picks up the pace, sliding smoothly through the saliva pooling there. Hermann moans and thrusts his hips upwards awkwardly, gripping the chair arms as the head of his cock rubs the roof of Newt's mouth raw. He yelps once, loudly, and spills into Newt's mouth. Newt tightens his lips, tongue rolling along the underside of Hermann's spasming erection, milking out every last drop of come he can get.

Hermann slumps further down into his chair and Newt pulls off with a wet slurping sound. Newt's so fucking worked up right now, he can't even be bothered to get up when he sees Hermann's hand making a familiar _get up here and I'll take care of you_ gesture. He shakes his head, resting one cheek on Hermann's thigh, and screws his eyes shut tight as he furiously fucks his own fist. It only takes a few more thrusts before he's biting down on his lip and trembling, cock jerking wildly and splattering the front of his shirt with spunk. His brain calms down for a whole three seconds, everything going blissfully blank as Hermann strokes his hair gently.

Eventually Newt wipes his hand on his underwear and tucks himself back in. He gives up his shirt as a wasted case, but he's usually so covered in goop and crud from the lab that he doesn't think anyone will give a shit.

As Newt crawls out from under the desk, brushing his knees off, Hermann chuckles quietly.

"It's a good thing your hair is usually ridiculous. Nobody except me would notice the difference."

"Hey!" Newt puts a lot of effort into making his hair look this disordered. That hurt. The funny little lopsided grin on Hermann's face makes it plain that he's teasing again. God, that's never going to stop being weird. Newt puts his glasses back on and rolls his eyes.

"I do believe you owe me a lunch date." Hermann hoists himself up out of his chair, pointedly ignoring the sticky hand Newt holds out to him. "And so help me, if you make a joke about already having eaten, I'm not speaking to you for a week."

Newt bursts out laughing, because really, the thought had absolutely crossed his mind. "You know me too well."

Hermann sighs, theatrical and put-upon. "Much to my dismay, yes. Now come on and buy me some noodles or something." Without a second glance, he's off unsteadily down the hall, leaving Newt to toddle up behind him.

"So, what was it? Being caught, or specifically being caught _by Tendo Choi_? Not gonna lie, he's pretty nice to look at, if you're into that sort of geeky vibe." Newt winks and gestures at himself.

Hermann continues staring straight ahead. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Newton. As usual."

"We could ask if he's into that sort of thing."

This finally earns a reaction. Hermann splutters and misses a step. He nearly tumbles and Newt lunges forward, just in case.

"I am not interested in sharing you, Newton. It was just..." The flush across his cheeks is too ridiculous for words and Newt nearly nudges him against the wall and kisses him right there in the middle of the corridor. "I seem to find the concept of an unexpected audience arousing."

Newt barks out a laugh. "You kinky little exhibitionist." He's about to continue wheedling Hermann but all too soon they reach the doors of the commissary. He holds the door open, poking Hermann gently in the ribs as he walks through.

"Shut up and go buy me lunch, Newton. You promised."

Grinning, Newt bows with an elaborate flourish. "Your wish is my command. But don't you dare think this is over."


End file.
